Page 12 of Daddies’ Holiday Toy (Kissmass Daddies #1)

HOLLY

At this rate, it really shouldn’t surprise me, but hearing Reece’s confirmation that we’re snowed in for the weekend still makes me wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Great.

Just great .

I turn and press my palm to the cold glass of the window, my fingertips tingling from the chill as I watch a few lingering snowflakes drift from the sky and swirl outside like mocking little dancers.

They’re beautiful in that carelessly, infuriating way, spinning wildly as if they know they’ve successfully trapped me here.

Is this karma?

Did I forsake some poor bastard last lifetime and now they’re finally exacting their revenge on me?

I’m not afraid of the guys in any sense.

They’ve been nothing but polite and respectful since I got here.

The danger is me .

It’s what I might want from them if given the chance.

I doubt I’ll ever get the courage to actually speak up and say what I want…but if I do, how the hell will they react?

They’re my dad’s friends.

His closest friends.

The men who probably know every ugly detail of his failures as a father and still welcome him around anyway.

The same man I’ve spent years trying not to let define me. I can’t afford to get tangled up in my dad’s bullshit via his friends by proxy.

So I do the only thing that makes sense.

I push away from the window, head back down the hall, and hide in my room.

For the rest of the morning and into early afternoon, I avoid them all like the plague.

I stay in the guest room and scroll my phone mindlessly until the words blur together and my battery screams at me to plug it in.

When that happens, I toss it aside and pace the small space instead.

When that doesn’t work in keeping my mind occupied, I flop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling and try to plan a way to save my bakery.

Yet, no matter what I do, my brain keeps dragging me back to everything that happened last night.

The worst part is they barely did anything. I’m simply conflating everything in my head and coming up with wild scenarios that will never happen, even if we were the last four people on Earth.

My stupid caveman brain simply won’t accept the logistics.

It’s too stuck on how horny I am and projecting that problem onto the only three available men around me.

Three hot as hell men…

I press my palms to my face with a groan.

Pull it together, Holly. Come on.

A soft knock at the door makes me jolt upright.

“Hey. It’s Liam,” comes his deep voice through the wood. “Just letting you know we’re heading out on a hike. Should keep us out of your hair for a few hours, so you don’t have to keep hiding.”

I blink, caught off guard, then my face begins to burn.

Wow, am I that obvious?

I open the door a crack, peeking out at him.

He’s standing there in his boots and coat, hands shoved into his pockets.

There’s snow already dusting his dark hair and five o’clock shadow.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say quickly. “It’s your weekend. I’m the one intruding on it.”

His smile softens into something faintly amused, almost kind.

“Hey, stop saying that. You’re welcome to join us if you like, but I get it if you don’t. No hard feelings. Least this gives you the run of the place for a bit.”

There’s a teasing note in his voice, but I still feel guilt prickle hot in my chest.

They’ve been too nice to me this far.

Now I’m being given space when I’ve done nothing to deserve it.

After crashing their weekend, instead of thanking them, I’m hiding in my room like a coward.

“Thanks,” I murmur, ducking my head.

Then again, the alternative is putting myself in danger by making a fool out of myself, and that’s the exact opposite of what I want to do.

“See you in a bit,” he says.

When the cabin door clicks shut down the hall behind them and the muffled sound of their boots fades from the stairs, silence settles over the cabin like a heavy blanket.

I let out a long breath and finally step out of the guest room for the first time since this morning.

Funny how much quieter the place feels without their presence pressing in on me…and also strangely lonely.

I wander aimlessly through the living room and into the kitchen and then back again, my fingers brushing over the back of the couch when I pass by it.

Now what?

My stomach pinches uncomfortably, forcing me to turn and head back into the kitchen.

Rummaging through everything in there, I spot it: a dusty old bottle of red wine tucked into the corner cabinet.

Somehow surviving the many trips my dad and his friends have taken up here over the years.

I pull it out, turning it over in my hands.

A plan starts forming in my head almost instantly.

If I can’t bring myself to properly thank them face-to-face like I should, maybe I can do it another way.

As in another dinner that isn’t just a bunch of things I’ve thrown together into a stew and called it a day.

This one will be an actual well thought out meal that leaves everyone at the table stuffed full and ready to crawl into bed to pass out for a few hours.

Perfect.

Smiling to myself, I set the wine aside and grab my phone, dialing Mom while pulling vegetables from the fridge.

She picks up after two rings, her voice bright. “Holly! How are you? How did cleaning the cabin go? You make it down the mountain okay? You never called.”

“Actually…I got stuck up here. The snowstorm got worse than I thought. So, I’m staying for the weekend until a plow can get up here and bail me out. But the guys have been great. Super polite. Giving me space.”

My hand moves slowly as I slice through the carrots, making them nice and even.

This has to be perfect. More than perfect, actually.

My skills in the kitchen aren’t usually in the cooking department.

I can throw something edible together no problem, but my real talent comes from my desserts.

Maybe that’s something I can do too, make dinner and a dessert that pairs well with the wine.

“What? Oh my god. You’re kidding!” she says.

“Yeah, it sucks but I’m safe. Hopefully the plows don’t get stuck coming up, but we won’t know until the town sends it up this way. How are you?”

There’s something faint on the other end of the phone.

I lift the phone up from the counter and press the receiver up to my ear to listen.

And that’s when I hear it: a man’s voice calling to her from somewhere in the background. “Mags, come back to bed.”

My knife pauses mid-chop. “Mom? Was that?—”

“Oh, um,” she stutters. “Sorry, honey. I’ve got to go! Call me when you get yourself dug out, okay?”

“Mom, are you seeing someone? Since when?”

She sighs. “Holly, we’ll talk later?—”

I hang up before I can hear any more excuses.

The phone clatters onto the counter, my chest tight and hot with disbelief.

My own mother didn’t think I was worth a heads-up to let her know she’d been seeing someone.

What the hell?

How the hell long has that been going on?

Even if it’s a recent development, she should’ve told me.

We share everything, not just the chatter of a day’s labor.

I grab the bottle of wine with a shaky hand and pour myself a glass.

Then, deciding one glass isn’t enough, I take a healthy swig straight from the bottle because fuck it, right?

“Perfect,” I mutter, setting it down with a thud. “Just perfect.”

Then I throw myself into cooking like my life depends on it.

God, what the actual fuck .